<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>good boy. by Aiyanna_M97</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780686">good boy.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiyanna_M97/pseuds/Aiyanna_M97'>Aiyanna_M97</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Short Stories. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Again, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, False Memories, Gen, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mother-Son Relationship, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Poisoning, Restraints, Spoilers, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, idk what, somethings wrong with this chick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:07:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiyanna_M97/pseuds/Aiyanna_M97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She had a good child. He never talked back, went to bed on time, and was inseparable from his mother. She loved him with all her heart, and the happiness he brought her was immeasurable.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Short Stories. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>good boy.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>these are SPOILERS. BIG ONES. but this is the official trigger warning.</p>
<p>this short contains child abuse, drugging, a mentally unstable mother and child endangerment. nothing about this is me trying to glorify it, i just wanted to write something really dark. read at your own risk.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <strong>Breakfast.</strong>
    </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Faint humming filled the crisp autumn air, originating from the kitchen as soft breeze fluttered in from the open windows. The house was fairly large, sound not traveling far in the spacious place. A woman flounced around the kitchen, moving between the stove and counters as she cooked a fabulous breakfast, rays of light shining through the windows and onto her pleased face, a gentle smile set on her features. She shivered, the temperature in the house low enough to give any person a chill, yet she thought nothing of it, brushed it off, and continued her ministrations. The tune she was humming was not one familiar to any living person, a melody she’d created within the confines of her mind. Her son sat at the table with a vacant smile upon his youthful features, the large grey hoodie adorning him beginning to slip to the side as he made no move to adjust it. A plate was set in front of him, piled high with pancakes drenched in syrup, a dusting of powdered sugar, and even a small handful of raspberries. The mother looked proudly upon her work and glanced at her son for approval. His head nodded to the side sleepily as he looked upon the food with his same distant smile, this being enough validation for the woman who was waiting expectantly. Her heart swelled with pride, knowing that her son appreciated the meal she’d made; a satisfied grin spread across her face as she left the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <strong>Bathtime.</strong>
    </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bathtime was never stressful. The mother undressed her son with little complaint from the small boy, running the bathwater as she did so. She gently placed him into the awaiting suds, the bubbles creeping up his chest as he sank into the water. Humming her song, she soaped up a washcloth and made quick work of cleaning the boy, dragging the sudsy water all across his body; the water that was much too cold, but neither of them complained. The warm lighting in the bathroom complimented the soft and calm mood, the mother cleansing her son of the day’s dirt in relative silence, aside from her steady heartbeat and occasional hum. She took special care around his collarbones and neck, careful not to damage the delicate skin there. The silence was broken momentarily by a quiet hum, this time from the young boy. He laid pliant and relaxed in the tub, with his same vacant, closed-lipped smile resting on his face. Soft breaths fluttered from his nostrils along with a familiar melody, the tune escaping him and landing upon the ears of his mother. Her face slid down into a frown. She tsked, dropping the cloth into the water and rocking back to sit on her heels. Her head shook in disapproval, lifting him from the bathwater as he began to hum louder, the smile that'd been in place upon his lips faltering momentarily. The mother toweled him off swiftly, dressing him and carrying him to his bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <strong>Bedtime.</strong>
    </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The melody was smooth and airy, gradually getting even louder in volume as she pulled back the soft white blanket and slid the child into place, tucking him in tightly, ensuring that the comforters were snug around him as he came to. He blinked, his eyesight clearing up as he took in his surroundings or the first time that day, as he did every night. “Mom?” He called out, a fearful tinge creeping into his voice. The child pleaded frantically, thrashing around in a futile attempt to break free from the death grip of his cotton prison.  “Mom, please. Not again, I’ll be good I swear-” His words were cut off as the woman blew into her hand, a soft puff of white powder blowing into his face. And just as soon as it started, the struggling ceased. Once more a vacant smile plastered itself on his face, his eyes glassy and unaware. She kissed his forehead lightly and left the room, turning off the light and shutting the door behind her, humming quietly as she went.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>